Softly Caught The Penny In His Paw
by Terfluous
Summary: My Chemical Romance. Ray's a comic geek. When his old comic store closes down, he finds a new one. The new store is brilliant, though, he gradually becomes more interested in the mysterious cashier than the comics. Somewhat tragic - don't like, don't read. This is the longest thing I've ever written, and it may contain a few different crossovers if you really squint.


Ray's a total comic book nerd, and a band geek to the point where he's sort of a hermit now. He isn't ashamed of it though. He plays lead guitar for a little band he's in with his flat mates and some high school friends, and they play the occasional gig thing at a local club. He's savvy with the history of practically every single character in all the best comics and could stand there for hours - no, days rattling off the reasons why DC is cooler than Marvel if anyone asked. No one asks though. He spends all his time on comics when he's not doing band stuff, or studying to be a doctor. He's getting good grades and is doing well, which of course keeps his parents smiling when he drops in to visit them every weekend.

But the point is, Ray loves comics. Which is why he gets quite upset when he walks down to his usual store and finds it gone, windows stripped of all posters and replaced with old newspaper, and the bright friendly comic style signage painted over with an empty white. Frank just laughs at him, which is really unfair of him since Ray comforted _him_ through the death of his artist boyfriend. Bob just pats him lightly and reassuringly on the back through his semi-meltdown, and gives him the addresses of several other comic stores within the area. Bob knows these things. Bob is awesome.

So when Ray gets home from the lecture theatre on Thursday dumping his notes on his desk and stuffing some leftover pizza down his throat, he grabs his jacket, yells a brief greeting to his flat mates, and is out the door again on his way to the next closest comic haven.

The store is tucked away on the end of a line of shops in a little back street. From the outside, it's practically just a black door, with a few posters and fliers stuck over the window. It has some good music playing - '_The Smiths'_, and is a cosy sort of warm - which Ray notices as soon as he steps over the threshold away from the frigid weather. It looks much larger than expected on the inside even in the dim yellowy light, with many shelves lined with a more extensive comic range than the last store he was fused with. It smells between a mix of musty old paper, damp concrete, the aroma of freshly printed newspaper with a side note of coffee. Ray's already in love. There's a tiny counter at the front corner supporting an old crusty cash register with more posters and event fliers stuck all over it.

The guy manning the cash register is sat absorbed in the latest issue of '_X-Men'_, eyes slowly scanning the page from behind the plastic framed glasses resting on the end of his nose. Ray browses a shelf of graphic novels that he's never seen before. Once he's finished taking in the beauty of the shop, he picks up the latest printings that he needs and heads over to the counter.

The dude is oddly quitet. He doesn't say anything other than the necessary "That'll be fifteen dollars" and "Enjoy your afternoon" as Ray makes his purchase. He doesn't even make eye contact, just lets his focus fall down at the register with a blank expression. His voice is a little bit scratchy, like he doesn't use it often. Ray thanks him and regretfully exits his new favourite place.

He is the only employee that Ray ever sees there on all the mornings, afternoons and evenings he frequents the store. It's weird because the guy looks a bit too young to be in there as much as he is - shouldn't he be studying or finishing high school? But there he is, perched on a little stool behind the cash register, time after time.

The guy is terribly awkward with his straight hair jutting around his face behind the arms of black and white glasses, his hunched shoulders and vacant face, but he's got these eyelashes. They're long and dark, and fan out softly around his melancholy eyes and haunted gaze. He's skinny, perhaps a bit gangly, yet he's graceful in his movements on the rare occasions seen stacking shelves. He's strangely beautiful, Ray thinks. There is never a variation in his behavior. The words "That'll be _ dollars ... Enjoy your afternoon" never change. As Ray visits the shop over the months, he observes the guy sitting there watching the world pass by. He hears the same words from him as if the guy doesn't know how to say anything else, he can't help thinking that the guy seems a little sad and maybe he should get to know him more.

On one exceptionally frozen day, Ray decides to hang out there if even just for the warmth. Thank fuck for that heater. He swears it's warmer than Bob's, Frank's and his flat could _ever_ be. The guy isn't behind the counter. He isn't in the room at all. Ray panics for a bit - because hey, he'd started to count on him always being there and his day is probably now completely thrown out the window - but then levels his head. He's probably just gone to get coffee or something from a couple of shops down the line.

Ray idly peruses the bindings of the old-ish graphic novels up near the back. He's startled when a section of the wall swings open right beside him and the guy rams into him with a box full of new comics. The guy squawks and drops the box, staring at Ray with impossibly wide eyes and his mouth opening in surprise. Ray's stomach swoops inappropriately. The guy then quickly bends down to begin picking up the comics that the overturned box spewed out all over the floor. Ray crouches to help him, wondering how the fuck he didn't notice a door there.

"I'm sorry man! I totally didn't see the door there," he sort of tries to explain as he hands a small stack of issues back to him. The guy doesn't reply, his eyes just dart from Ray's hand holding out the comics, to his face and quickly to the floor again. He takes the comics from Ray slowly, eyeing his hand warily as if it would kill him, then hastily slotting them back in the box. Ray feels awkward, so he smiles a bit and sticks his hand out again.

"I'm Ray."

The guy's shadowy eyes glance curiously at his, then rest on his hand. For a moment he does nothing, like he's contemplating whether Ray's hand still looks dangerous or not, before timidly reaching out and shaking it slowly. His fingers are soft. He closes his eyes and keeps holding Ray's hand, and Ray feels the awkwardness level rising again.

"This is seriously the most awesome comic store ever though," He tells him.

The guy's eyes snap open. He drops Ray's hand and quickly fumbles for the box of new comics. He still doesn't say anything and swiftly gets to his feet, rose hues rudely flushing the pale from his cheeks. By the time Ray stands, the guy is at the other end of the shop already slotting the new issues into places on the shelves, not daring to turn in Ray's direction. Ray clears his throat briefly before returning to whatever it was he was doing before. It takes him a moment to remember through the thick confusion in his head. That's right. Graphic novels. After a minute he gives up, uninterested and grabs something vaguely corny looking. He doesn't think he'll read it, though at least he won't appear to have been in the shop for no reason at all.

"Five dollars" The guy almost whimpers, hiding behind his fringe. Ray hands him a note, watching his actions with concern. He shakily exchanges the note and pushes the change across the counter. Ray collects it and looks back up at the guy. He's staring down at his fingernails blinking tightly.

"Are you alright?" Ray can't help but ask. The guy jerks, those eyes darting up to catch his for less than a millisecond and back down, nodding barely. Ray isn't convinced, but he bids him thank you and a good day and leaves the store anyway. He winces as the cold plows into him. He begins to make his way home, trying to ignore the weird feeling in his stomach that he's had since the guy first looked at him properly. Ray doesn't sleep well that night.

The next time he goes in there the guy is gone, it's cold as fuck, there's no music playing, and there's a slightly older man at the register with sideburns and tattoos. Ray asks him what happened to the usual guy - Mikey - he's told he wanted a few days off. Apparently he does it often, and that he - the owner - doesn't mind. The owner gives him a sideways look and Ray realizes he'd deflated a bit.

"I sort of come here a lot. And it's just weird is all." Ray says easily and the owner nods. Ray doesn't go back to the store at all that week. He decides that it's probably better for him to worry about band stuff anyway.

He goes to one of the local clubs to see a band he's had his eye on for a while. They're pretty good he thinks, as he downs yet another beer. He's starting to get into it, enjoying the atmosphere a little more when he sees a familiar figure. He has to double take, because he's not sure if it's the alcohol or if it's really the guy, Mikey, on the dance floor. It is. He's alone, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Moving as if nothing else in the world matters to him. Just the swell and command of the music, and for the first time Ray's seen him, he's letting go of everything. The rest of the crowd doesn't really notice him.

Ray's thinking Mikey looks damn good on the floor like that. He's absolutely flawless. Ray's probably been gaping for too long. Ray's also a little bit drunk, therefore a bit more confident than he usually would be. So he makes his way over to Mikey. Mikey keeps moving and doesn't see Ray until he's sort of dancing with him. For a moment Mikey goes with it – still caught up in the music. Penny in the air. In fact, he even leans in with closed eyes, resting his head lightly on his shoulder and Ray certainly isn't opposed to it.

Mikey's skin feels weird as Ray holds him and reaches up to cup his face. Weird in the way that is smooth, and soft, and furry and_ wow_ he thinks, - maybe he had more to drink than he remembers. He runs his fingers under his chin feeling more. The small touch would have meant nothing if Mikey hadn't made a soft, pleased, and slightly needy sound in his ear. It's absolutely precious. He does it again, too enthralled. The penny drops.

Abruptly Mikey comes back to himself. Jolting back like he'd just woken up. Shocked, he stares at Ray, with his bright round eyes that Ray adores, and then Mikey's bolting for the door. Ray takes a second to think _What the fuck?_ before going after him.

Outside the club Mikey is nowhere to be seen - which is impossible because Ray definitely saw him go out the door and he can't have gotten _that_ far. But Mikey is gone, and Ray remembers that he's drunk and it's quite possible that he may have disappeared into a neighboring bar or shop. Probably. There's nothing but a few smokers, some couples making out on the sidewalk area, and the occasional moving car driving up or down the street. Whatever.

Ray deflates and finds himself watching a cat slinking out from under a parked car. He doesn't much like cats - too reserved and snobby he thinks. It begins to cross the street - it's shadow a double silhouette against the orange reflection of the street lamps and the moonlight on the wet road. Ray looks up - it's a full moon. When he gazes back down at the cat, a boy-racer speeding down the lane runs it over without stopping. The thwack sound lingers in his mind. A sickening echo.

Ray doesn't much like cats, but he looks at the limp body lying on the road and thinks he would feel like a giant asshole if he just left it there. So, Ray takes the cat home - setting up his hard guitar case in the kitchen with blankets and placing the thankfully alive and softly breathing cat inside. The little black body isn't terribly battered. He lightly pets the short black fur of it's side. The fur is softer than it looks, under his finger tips. It's actually remarkable that the poor cat isn't all mangled like he thought it would be. Still, he sets his alarm an hour and a half early so he can at least take it to the vet the next morning.

The thing is, the cat isn't there the next morning. Ray doesn't even know how it got out, but it's gone. After a full house search, and many strange looks from Bob and Frank, he theorizes that it must have gone out the kitchen window - which he must have forgotten to shut for some reason. Maybe it wasn't badly hurt at all, if it was able to escape via a window. It's weird, but he doesn't think anything else of it.

Mikey's there again. In the comic store. He looks somewhat sadder and more tired than usual, huddled up in a '_Captain America'_ blanket (which Ray doesn't quite approve of) by the heater. Not that his facial expression has changed at all, but Ray can tell. When Mikey looks up from his comic and sees Ray, his eyes widen and he freezes. Colour slowly blooming on his cheeks. It's the second time he has ever made proper eye contact with Ray inside the store. Ray decides not say anything about the other night - not even sure himself what happened. He's snapped out of his thoughts by Glen Danzig's voice.

"Dude, you like the 'Misfits'?" Ray can't help but ask, grinning. Mikey blinks, and casts a glance over his stereo.

"Yeah." It's so quiet, but it hangs between them like a banner.

"Awesome. What other bands do you like?" He's asked before he could think, but it's alright because Mikey's demeanor has lifted almost visibly.

"Probably a lot - _Radiohead, Joy Division, Smashing Pumpkins, Anthrax_..." and just like that he's off, and Ray is amazed simply that Mikey's talking. To him, even. ".._.The Smiths, Iron Maiden, The Cure, Queen..._" Mikey trails off just as Ray was sort of becoming entranced by the increasingly smoother sound, pausing with his mouth open, blinking, and tersely closing it. "Sorry..."

Ray doesn't know what he's sorry for, but Ray doesn't know lots of things about him. He ignores the weird thing his stomach is doing.

"Do you play anything?" he just has to ask. Mikey glances to the right quickly and shakes his head. He opens his mouth as if to grace it with words, but when his eyes return a little sadly, he just shakes his head again and they rest on the counter. Ray places the set of comics he needs and some money on the surface. Mikey performs the transaction in silence. Ray shrugs and smiles. "Thank you... and uh, have a good day."

When he moves towards the door Mikey is staring after him. His expression is still neutral, but he looks sort of more perplexed. Ray waves awkwardly and exits. His watch is telling him that it's twenty past. _Shit._ He has class in ten minutes. He scrambles back home and lurches into his car.

It is the _shittiest_ human biology class he's ever been to. He's late, and everyone turns around and stares at him weirdly as he enters the room. He's never been late before, and it fucking sucks. He sits down at the back – he hates the back, and realizes that in his rush to get there he forgot to take his jotter book. He doesn't even have a pen. So he has to sit there for an hour or so unable to take notes, sitting next to punks that do nothing but exchange lewd comments about the diagrams of certain anatomy, and text, and throw bits of paper in his hair, and laugh at him. He doesn't take in much of the lesson, and it annoys him to all end because it's probably very important.

At home, after failing miserably to recount the lesson in his jotter pad (seriously, the blank page is actually laughing at him), Ray gives up and starts reading the comics he bought earlier. He ends up thinking of Mikey though. Wondering why he seems to be at the store all day every day. Doesn't he have friends - or a family at least? He also wonders if Mikey has always been a reserved sort of person.

Ray is now going into the comic store nearly every day and most of the time it's with no other reason than to talk to Mikey. It's become a habit, and he just can't get enough of seeing his face, like Mikey now owns a chunk of his heart. He keeps intending to ask him all these questions that have been brewing in his mind forever, but somehow he never manages.

They're always led into having small conversations about bands. Mikey is opening up, bit by bit. Sometimes they talk for hours about stuff, and comics, couple of times well exceeding the shop's closing time. Mikey is almost as nerdy as Ray. Almost. Then Ray starts rambling on about guitars which Mikey probably doesn't need to hear and probably doesn't care because he doesn't play.

"I'm doing a gig tonight at The Riddle," His mouth blurts one day, clearly disconnected from his brain and running a muck. Ray thinks he might as well give him the rest of the details, "We're the second band on and... It's at eight. If you're interested." Ray thinks he is the lamest person on the planet at this moment. Mikey's eyes are wide, sort of in a pleasantly surprised manor. He nods tentatively.

"Okay" Mikey says quietly, and then his focus seems to drift more to the wall behind Ray. There's this tiny little upwards tug on the right corner of his mouth. Ray's never seen it before, but he finds it endearing. He walks out the shop with a bit of spring. Then he thinks that his crush is bordering on ridiculous because there's no way he should be this happy about a lip quirk.

Ray can't help being a little bit nervous. He's buzzing a bit, on edge, and of course Frank has to give him a surprise tackle hug while he's tuning his guitar for the third time.

"You _know_ how frustrating that is." Ray huffs and puts his guitar down.

"You love it." Frank grins and remains latched onto Ray. Thankfully Bob has come to save him.

"Dude, if you break Toro, I'll skin you alive." Bob says menacingly, Frank just laughs. "And make you into boots." Bob adds, but he's totally smiling because Frank's giggle is infectious.

It takes Ray a while to spot Mikey from his side of the stage, at the gig. The audience is pretty sizable. Mikey's moving with the crowd, looking as into the music as ever, with that carefree aura. It's kind of a new experience for Ray, because he hasn't really cared about entertaining the audience, or what they think of his appearance in the past. He's now conscious of the fact that he never makes proper eye contact with the crowd. He's aware that he moves with about half the energy that Frank does. Tonight it isn't just about the music. He focuses on Mikey in between singing harmonies, hating that every now and then he has to look down and make sure his fingers are over the right frets.

In the next song Mikey begins to loose himself, like he did when Ray first saw him in this context. His eyes are closed blissfully, swaying and moving in time to the music, as though it is his life blood. As though it completes him. He looks beautiful. Ray's chest feels weird, like his heart is lunging out to try and reach Mikey on it's own. Ray knows he notices the slight slip of his fingers when he stares for too long. He can feel his face burn with a cold fire as he looks to his guitar to correct himself and get back on the right track, thanking the lord that it wasn't on a solo. He also thanks the lord that Frank hasn't made fun of him for it, or done something to sabotage his playing, for which he is often noted.

By the time the band is off stage, he's lost sight of Mikey. No, Mikey is gone. He even scans the bar three times over. Ray deflates, and goes off to the back room again to pack away his guitar and things like the rest of the band. He hopes Mikey liked their songs. He wishes that Mikey could have stayed, at least just to ask him what he thought. It's causing him to start feeling self conscious about his playing.

Ray remains silent as he and Frank ride home with Bob in his car, still internalizing the situation. Frank called shotgun, and is in the front recounting excitedly with Bob just how awesomely all their shit came together that time, and how rabid the crowd was. Ray's ears buzz annoyingly whenever anyone speaks, and he's tired from all the hype. As Bob parks the car, Ray hoists himself out, Frank throws an arm around him and jostles him cheerily.

"Ray, you totally smashed that solo tonight!" He grins with blinding enthusiasm.

"Really?" In all honesty, Ray wasn't really concentrating on that side of things. In fact, he has no idea how good they were tonight. It was like he was playing in a concrete pipe, and Mikey was the only light at the end of it.

"Fuck yeah!" Frank bounces along to the door, juggling his guitar and grabbing his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door. Bob pats Ray on the back.

"You okay?" Bob asks, as Frank disappears into the flat. Ray sighs. "You seem kind of out of it." Bob observes. Ray smiles and rubs his eyes.

"I'm tired. It was really intense tonight." It is the truth,

"Yeah. We nailed it." Bob gives him that little smile he does when he's proud, and walks inside as Ray holds the door open. When Ray turns to walk inside, he thinks he catches a glimpse of something slinking into the shadows of the yard. He stops for a bit, and peers out into the black. Whatever it was, _if it was_, is gone. Ray shrugs and steps inside, noting how much warmer the weather has gotten.

Ray's stomach and chest are still feeling weird when he retires to his bedroom. It's keeping him awake, actually. After turning over restlessly for the billionth time, he decides to take something – anything, just to get some sleep. All he can be bothered to find is the aspirin on his bedside table, because the medicine cabinet seems too far away. He feels it start to take soothing effect while reading an old issue of '_Watchmen_', and sighs in relief. Slumber takes him quickly through his exhaustion.

Ray dreams. He dreams of curling up in that chair with Mikey, under his ridiculous _'Captain America'_ blanket, enjoying the warmth of the heater. He dreams of holding him tight, as he cries out whatever it is that has him down. He would be there to place little comforting pats upon his back. It's so real, he knows it's a dream, but it's like he can hear the soft little sobs floating over his shoulder. The feathery light press of lips he almost feels against his cheek, at one point.

Ray sees Mikey as soon as he enters the comic store the next night. Well, the counter_ is _right by the door, but that isn't the point. It's really late, and probably around the time that the store should be closing, but Ray didn't have enough courage earlier.

Mikey doesn't look up at Ray. He's curled up in the blanket on his chair, leaning up against the side wall of the shop, glasses askew, eyes shut. His cheeks are lightly dusted with the warmth of the blanket and the heater, which is going full bore right next to him. Ray thinks it's weird. It's like, summer in a month, and now that he notices, the store is pretty stifling. There is a notebook sitting open loosely in his hands, weird blue paper pages fanning out unevenly. It looks like it could fall at any minute, possibly breaking the spell of peace and contentment drifting over him.

Ray moves closer, to put the notebook to rest on the counter. He stops short however, because he notices an odd sound. It isn't quite a snore, but it's a low and constant thrum floating just under the noise of the heater. It could even be the heater, Ray hasn't ever been this close to it before. Though, the logic doesn't stop the queasy sway of his gut. Ray ignores it.

Mikey stirs slightly. The notebook slips out of his sleep frail grasp. Ray catches it before it splatters to the floor, but when he turns to place it on the counter Mikey is startling at Ray like he's never seen a human, eyes round. His eyes aren't surprised though, just round, and looking at him sadly, perhaps dreading. Perhaps he was expecting him. The quirky little sound has stopped. Ray's heart dives, taking the rest of his insides with it.

He doesn't think before he wraps his arms around Mikey, just holds him close. He thinks Mikey could do with a good hug. Then he wonders where his sense of personal space went, and that maybe Mikey might be a bit freaked out. He _was _watching him sleep. Sort of. He feels fragile in his embrace. Ray pulls back with the red embarrassment crawling over the skin of his face.

"I– ...I'm sorry – I didn't mean–" Ray stumbles uselessly, searching the floor and wishing that the old burgundy carpet would just swallow him already. Mikey slowly takes hold of Ray's shoulders.

"Ray."

It is all Mikey says. It is the faintest sound, but his voice is strong, stronger than it should be. Ray meets his eyes. They are unreadable. Mikey's large pupils pull him in tentatively, he erases the gap between them and kisses Ray. It isn't heated or messy, just a sweet and respectable kiss on the lips, yet it is everything to Ray. It's like the sheer perfection of it stops time. Ray closes his eyes as Mikey deepens it a bit, wrapping his arms around Ray gently. It makes him want to cry.

Mikey pulls back after a thousand years, a minute, through still remaining close. Ray can't do anything. Paralyzed from the brain down. Mikey smells of the rain, and dark alley ways. He cocks his head slightly, as though listening for a particular sound, or someone calling his name.

"I have to close up shop" he whispers, and Ray feels the words breathe against his chin. Mikey hugs Ray like the world is ending, like a 'thank you'. He pulls Ray up too as he stands. Ray watches as he locks the register and covers it with a cloth. He moves with an odd sense of finality, and Ray doesn't quite understand it. He flicks out the lights and stands beside the door.

Mikey smiles. He smiles a small wistful smile and it's full of gold, like the true gold his eyes are shining with now. And he's smiling at Ray. It's surreal and picturesque, and Ray wishes he had a camera to capture and keep it forever. Mikey reaches for the handle, swings the door open, and nimbly slips out into the night. The door shuts behind him with a muted woody clunk. Finally Ray's legs decide to work again, and he runs after him, shell shocked and pleasantly confused.

He sees Mikey start to cross the empty street, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looks pretty normal. His graceful form blends into the shadows of the suburban life. His stride is too slow though, and slowing, as though his legs are gradually filling up with lead.

"Mikey!" Ray calls out to him, stopping on the footpath. His voice reverberates off the buildings, disturbing the calm, cricket-less air. Mikey stops, turns around and stands in the middle of the road. He looks up at the moon, then down at Ray with a peaceful smile. Ray loves him. Mikey turns to walk again.

Ray looks up at the moon, wondering what significance it is to Mikey. It is a full moon. Brightly smiling down with dismay. The squealing of car tires cuts the scene in half. Ray looks down. He sees the car. It's driving at a speed well past the limit. A speed too fast. Ray's knees give out, watching it collide with Mikey's glass form. Ray shatters as Mikey falls, his head striking the asphalt.

Ray's voice is gone, and he can't breathe. His own throat is choking him with the forming lump of grief. He's now crouched over Mikey, not caring to register when he moved. He turns Mikey over. Dark crimson ribbons roll across his face like the carpet isles in the store. It pools beneath his head like a pillow, and curves into his softly contented lips. Eyes exhaling the gold from his irises, releasing quickly as the life drains.

Ray tenderly removes his glasses, and slides his eyelids down. His heart is climbing the walls of his throat. Mikey still looks beautiful. He holds him to his chest as Mikey fades from his body. The young driver and passenger of the speeding car are standing by, hysterical voices merging with the ringing in Ray's ears.

He can't let go of Mikey. Not even as the ambulance nurses urge him to. Ray isn't stupid. He's training to be a doctor, he knows it's too late. Nothing can be done, he'll be sent straight to the morgue, and if this is the last time he ever sees Mikey, he wants it to last. They don't bother to argue when he steps onto ambulance behind them. Ray holds Mikey's hand. He numbly strokes his thumb over the greying knuckles. He holds his hand until the nurses take him away through the dark closed doors guarded by identification codes.

He enters his flat, feeling numb and stiff. He doesn't hear Frank and Bob greet him from the living room. Ray walks directly to his room, closing the door behind him carefully. He faces his room. It's full of comics. He moves towards his bed, but collapses on the fist step – the sickening thwack echoing in his mind.

Ray just lies on the comic strewn floor of his room, unseeing. He can't breathe. He feels the light press of a hand to his back, and the unruly curls being pushed off his face.

"Ray? Dude?"

It is Frank's voice, and his worried face appears out of the mess. Ray disintegrates. He knows he is sobbing, but he doesn't recognize the sound as his own.

Ray can't bring himself to visit the comic store. He is aware of the fact that he's missing out on all the weekly issues. He's aware that he isn't finding out what happens to _'Nightwing' _or _'Wolverine'_. But he just doesn't care. He isn't eating well. Bob makes him sandwiches and brings him food, commanding him to _eat it or else_. Ray just can't. The perpetual lump in his throat has swallowed his appetite. Frank seems to understands this, and scoffs it down for him when Bob isn't looking.

Of course Ray had to tell them about Mikey. At first they were a bit miffed,

_"What, you got a boyfriend and didn't tell us?" _

_"Dude, what the fuck?"_

_"He wasn't my boyfriend..."_

Bob is now disinterested in that aspect of things, unable to relate. Frank wants to hear it all though, and always lends an ear when Ray needs to vent. They vent together, Frank drawing similarities between his late boyfriend and Mikey. Ray thinks he wouldn't survive without his flat mates there.

It's been about six weeks and counting when Bob puts an arm around Ray one afternoon.

"You should go to the comic store." He says authoritatively, in a very Bob-like fashion. Ray just stares at him, feeling the twinge of grief in his heart whenever it is mentioned. It's gradually getting less painful. "I'm serious. You need to get some comics – catch up on all the ones you've missed."

"But I don't–"

"You do. You're miserable. You need some normality" Bob says, bro-slapping him on the back, and moving off to toast some hash-browns. Ray thinks that Bob has a very good point. He_ has _started missing the comics. Bob smiles warmly at Ray as he stands up and grabs his keys off the fridge. Mikey probably wouldn't want Ray to stop reading comics anyway. Ray kicks himself for not thinking of this earlier.

His courage and determination dissipates upon approaching the store. It looks just the same as it did when he first set eyes on it. Ray pauses in front of the door. He isn't sure anymore. He can't make his hand grab onto the door handle. All he can think is that Mikey won't be in there. He won't be sitting behind the counter reading _'Batman'_, or stacking the shelves.

"Uh, excuse me?" A voice Ray hasn't heard before sounds behind him. He turns to see a man standing there. Penny in the air. His hair is short and so blond that it could be called white. He is clad in black – skinny jeans and a hoodie. He finds his face unsettling, for some reason. "Are you Ray?"

Ray jumps a bit, not expecting this complete stranger to know him. He nods slowly. "Yeah."

"I'm Gerard – Gerard Way." The man sticks out a pale hand, and Ray shakes it uncertainly. The name rings an iron bell. "I'm Mikey Way's brother"

And the penny drops. Ray can see the resemblance. Similar eyes and brow, similar – similar everything. Though this man, Gerard has a different nose. Mikey did once mention having a brother. "Oh."

"I think we should talk." Gerard says with a curious little smile. He holds open the shop door as he enters, beckoning for Ray to follow.

The store is empty. It smells musty like it's been closed for a good length of time. A small joy fills up a hole in Ray's chest in seeing the humble decor of it again. Gerard pulls up the small step ladder that was used to reach the posters high on the walls, and sits on it. He motions to Mikey's chair for Ray to sit down too. A part of him wants to leave the chair be, like a sacred Mikey shrine, but he sits on it anyway, as the better part of him agrees that that would be a bit stupid.

"He was always so into comics. That's probably my fault" Gerard says, looking around with a nostalgic and somewhat dorky little grin. "The first time I drew Batman. It's like from that moment he knew he wanted to work in a comic store. He told me he'd sell my comics." Gerard smiles fondly at the memory as he fiddles with his fingers.

"Do you write comics?" Ray isn't sure he heard him right,

"I draw them too." Gerard says, shrugging, as if it isn't totally wicked. "But he never liked big changes." Gerard jumps back to the topic suddenly. "Often he just couldn't move on. He was just a little slow ...is all." He tells him, looking unfocused. Ray doesn't have a clue what he means by that.

"You were close?" Ray asks. Gerard seems fond of the memories he has of Mikey. The thing that unsettles Ray, is the fact that he doesn't seem too cut up about his passing.

"Yeah. Very." He pauses, "Hey, I wanted to tell you that we're having a funeral for him on Friday. Y'know, if you wanted to come," Gerard searches Ray's eyes. Ray stares back, brightly thankful.

"Seriously?" Ray says eloquently, lost for words.

"Yeah. Mikey would have liked you to come. I'd like you to come. He told me all about you." Gerard is looking at Ray like he is a Saint. Ray's throat has decided that words are too difficult. "He couldn't stop smiling after he saw you and your band," It's too much for Ray. He looks down at the carpet, away from Gerard's smile, but a tear still rolls down his cheek. Gerard pulls Ray into an embrace.

"I know. But thank you. Thank you so much." Gerard is talking softly. Ray's confused and overwhelmed, not knowing why he's being thanked.

Mikey's funeral service is sedate, quite bland except for the ornate black ribbons and streamers decorating the isles of the old church. His coffin is black and gold. Gerard shares fond memories of growing up with Mikey, like the time when Mikey tried using a metal fork to coax the toast out of the toaster thinking it was safe. The rest of it feels very grim to Ray, old church hymns, and everyone in formal black attire. Ray watches Gerard through most of the afternoon tea. He and a couple of others are wearing almost military style jackets, black, with white braiding. A piece of Ray is curious as to where it came from, because he's never seen it before. The six of them carry the coffin out to the hearse.

Ray follows the parade of dark cars to the burial site. He stands in the grey scene bowing his head in respect as they gently lower the coffin into the ground.

_Ashes to Ashes,_

_Dust to Dust._

Ray stands there and watches people drop roses in, one by one. He stands there long after most of them have gone, grey weather swirling around him and slowly whisking away his body heat. He stands until the only ones left at the site are him, Gerard, and another guy. The other guy is taller, with short black hair. He and Gerard are both hiding unsettling faces under thick eyeliner, and wearing military jackets, though they are styled slightly differently. He's been hanging close to Gerard most of the time.

Gerard straightens, turns and leaves, nodding at Ray as he passes. The silence is a little bit awkward, as the guy shifts and moves to stand beside Ray. The air is thick.

"Thank you,"

Ray doesn't reply, still choked up. The guy rests a gentle but strong hand on Ray's shoulder.

"It's okay. Really it is." he says. He gently tucks a small folded piece of weird blue paper into Ray's hands and leaves. Ray has no idea why he is saying that because of course it's not okay. Mikey is gone. Mikey is_ dead_. But it is the tail end of the guy's voice that gets him. It sounded gut wrenchingly familiar. Ray's head snaps up and he turns to look for the guy, frowning. But the guy is gone. The graveyard is empty, save for a little hagged old lady on the park bench feeding the ravens, and a black cat slinking out into the grey.

_Penny in the air... _


End file.
